


9/11

by kierathefangirl



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 9/11 fic, Alfred calling himself pathetic and Arthur telling him he's not, Arthur caring for Alfred, Brotp, M/M, USUK bromance, cute fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kierathefangirl/pseuds/kierathefangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred is devastated to go outside and find the twin towers burning. Arthur sees it on the news and comes over immediately (despite the fact that he's worried Alfred won't want him there). Arthur takes care of Alfred and never once leaves his side. Alfred says "I feel pathetic" and Arthur says "You’re not, my friend". Cute fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 9/11 (Alfred's POV)

**Author's Note:**

> I just joined the Hetalia fandom, like, 2 days ago. Just from Pintrest, Tumblr, Hetalia Wiki, and Google (both Google Images and Google Search), I've gathered what I know (along with most of the first season of Hetalia: Axis Powers).
> 
> I was listening to "Come Home" by One Republic during this piece...and it did have an influence, I suggest you listen while reading.
> 
> Youtube link to "Come Home": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kvA7Ej9N_5Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred watches the towers fall and is devastated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First few chapters are short, longer chapters to come.

The airplane hits the tower and suddenly is ablaze. The tower begins to crumple like crushed paper, flaking away like a pie crust and slowly turning to dust.

I watch helplessly as the towers fall, as people scream in terror and pain before their voices are silenced. _Is this what America has come to? How could this happen? Why can’t I stop it?_

The concrete is rough under my knees as I crumple to the ground. _So many lost. Too many lost._


	2. Devastating News (Arthur/England's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur sees the news and immediately hops on a plane to visit Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter.

I turn on the morning news, sipping at my tea. A scene of the towers Alfred had tried so hard to build, ablaze. My hand starts to shake. _I never wanted this for him. I never wanted to see him hurt. Damn it, I have to see him. Whether or not he wants me there._

I set my tea down, sweeping out the door. The vibrant colours surround me, such a contrast to the devastating scene of red fire licking away at Alfred’s hard work. I hail a private airplane, ordering the pilot to fly straight to America with no stops.

The airplane lifts off and I sink down into a seat, picking up a fresh cup of tea and drinking it with a shaking hand. _Poor Alfred. America was supposed to be ‘the land of the free and brave’, as he put it, but now it’s the land of fire._

I close my eyes, hoping I can reach Alfred before he tries something stupid.


	3. Arthur (Alfred's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's POV of Arthur's arrival. Shows his thoughts and feelings about what's going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute fluff. A bit longer than the first two; next chapter is longer.

I feel an arm around me, pulling me to my feet. I try to protest, but I can’t. _I just need someone there, anyone. I don’t even care if it’s Italy or Russia or Germany or even England. But someone, just....anyone._

Arthur’s voice reaches me, and he starts to guide me back inside and help me back to the couch. “Hey, Alfred, breathe. Breathe with me. Come on, deep breaths. Please, come on, breathe.”

I try to make my feet move. _I can’t let him see me like this, I was the one who declared independence, come on, pull it together. Pull it together, damn it, stop shaking. Keep walking. Come on._

As much as I try to pull it together, I end up giving up with just the hope that he’ll understand. _Everyone has bad days, right? I’m not totally alone._

Finally there’s a soft couch under me, and Arthur is there. “Alfred, please, breathe. You’re hyperventilating. You can’t even come close to calming down if you don’t try. In....out. Breathe with me.”

I crumple into him, feeling weak and horrible. _I should be the strong one, not Arthur. ...But I can’t. Why can’t I calm down? Come on, please, breathe. Count to ten. Something, anything to make it stop._

His arms are warm around me and he doesn’t make any comment on how weak I am—rather on how he knows I want to calm down and to breathe with him. “Alfred, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. Just breathe with me.”

I can’t stop shaking, but I manage to stop hyperventilating just enough that I can breathe. “A-Arthur?”

Arthur tightens his grip. “Yes. Just because you’re your own country now doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

I curl into him, unable to stop crying despite my best efforts. “Y-you don’t have to see me like this, go.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m here for you, even if you don’t want me to be. I’ve been there, I know. It’s okay.”

I start crying even harder. “No, it’s not. Heroes are strong. They don’t cry. They don’t fall apart, damn it.”

Arthur shakes his head, his voice soft. “Who gave you that idea? Even heroes have bad days, because they’re only human. It’s a flaw in our nature. Everyone has those days. Even Spain, even Russia and Italy and Germany. We’ve all had bad days and good days and that’s just life.”

I whimper a little. “I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not, my friend,” Arthur counters gently. “You’re just you. Just because someone with jealousy and a grudge takes you down a peg, doesn’t mean you give up. There’s always gonna be countries and people like that. And that’s life, we just have to accept it and move on. You’re not pathetic by any stretch of the imagination. I’m proud of you, Alfred, you’re stronger than you realize. You lost hundreds of thousands of people in one fell swoop, thousands of innocents. And it’s not your fault that it hurts. Just let it out, let it go.”

My glasses slide off, and Arthur catches them, setting them on the sidetable. I can’t see anyway, my vision is blurred with tears. I can’t breathe again. _Maybe he’s right._


	4. I Feel Pathetic (Arthur's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV. Alfred explains what it means when something "goes against every grain of your fiber". Arthur takes a while to catch on. Explaining it takes Alfred's mind off of 9/11 and Arthur holds him (on his lap, of course! :D). Cute fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer than the others. :) Cute fluff. Arthur holding Alfred on his lap in an effort to calm him. Alfred explaining stuffs. :D

The moment the airplane touches down, I hand the pilot money enough to cover the flight and a generous tip before flying out the door, skidding down the street to find Alfred.

Alfred is crumpled on the ground on the other side of the street from the scene, gasping for air with tears streaming down his face and blood soaking through his clothes all over. “No,” he chokes.

I kneel down, sliding an arm around him and pulling him to his feet. _Please don’t reject me. You need me, even if you yourself won’t admit it. Just let me help you, please, Alfred._

Alfred protests weakly, “No, no, I’m fine. Please, no.”

The protest is weak and he crumples into me, crying too hard to say much else.

I lift him up a little, heading for his house. He tries defiantly to move his legs but the attempt is half-hearted and he gives up after only a few seconds.

I lower him onto his couch, watching sadly as he collapses into it and sinking down nervously next to him. “Alfred, please, breathe. You’re hyperventilating. You can’t even come close to calming down if you don’t try. In....out. Breathe with me.”

I slide my arms back around him, holding him close. His sobs grow quieter but also harder at the same time, and he’s hyperventilating. “Alfred, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. Just breathe with me.”

He stops hyperventilating just barely, choking, “A-Arthur?”

I tighten my grip, my voice low. “Yes. Just because you’re your own country now doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Alfred just curls into me, shaking from head to toe. “Y-you don’t have to see me like this, go.”

I shake my head, insisting, “I’m here for you, even if you don’t want me to be. I’ve been there, I know. It’s okay.”

He starts crying even harder. “No, it’s _not_. Heroes are strong. They don’t cry. They don’t fall apart, damn it.”

I shake my head, murmuring, “Who gave you that idea? Even heroes have bad days, because they’re only _human_. It’s a flaw in our nature. Everyone has those days. Even Spain, even Russia and _Italy_ and Germany. We’ve all had bad days and good days and that’s just life.”

Alfred whimpers weakly. “I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not, my friend,” I counter gently. “You’re just _you_. Just because someone with jealousy and a grudge takes you down a peg, doesn’t mean you give up. There’s always gonna be countries and people like that. And that’s life, we just have to accept it and move on. You’re not pathetic by any stretch of the imagination. I’m proud of you, Alfred, you’re stronger than you realize. You lost hundreds of thousands of people in one fell swoop, thousands of innocents. And it’s not your fault that it hurts. Just let it out, let it go.”

His glasses slide off, and I catch them, setting them on the side-table. He’s crying too hard to see anything, anyway.

Alfred collapses into me, crying too hard to make a coherent sentence despite his best efforts to protest that I should just go home, that he doesn’t need help. But each protest is weaker and weaker, and finally he just gives up and whispers brokenly, “Thank you. For everything. For not leaving, for being here, for taking care of me even if I don’t deserve it. Thank you.”

I pull him into my lap, fitting my arms around him protectively. “No way I’d leave you alone like this, even if you don’t really want me here. You need someone to be there, even if you try to act all tough and grown up. And you _do_ deserve it, Alfred, you deserve everything. You deserve better than you have. I still care.”

Alfred peeks at me, his eyes still wet with fresh tears. “Y-you mean it?”

I nod insistently. “Yes. Just because you declared independence doesn’t mean I stop caring. I fought because I didn’t want to lose you. Not because I didn’t understand.”

Alfred chokes a little. “R-really? S-so you don’t hate me?”

I shake my head. “Why would I hate you? You’re everything I can’t be. Free, happy. I’m supposed to be all proper, the gentleman, to never say a word against anyone else. It’s depressing. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

Alfred offers me a watery smile. “You don’t have to. I mean, you can do other stuff. You shouldn’t make yourself sad to please others. You’re not living life to the fullest when you do that.”

I shrug. “It’s what’s expected of me. There’s not much I can do to change that. Not all of us can be as happy as you—nor, for that matter, as happy as Italy.”

Alfred laughs shakily. “You can always change. Don’t forget that. Don’t do something if it goes against every grain of your fiber, but you can grow. You can change.”

“What do you mean ‘if it goes against every grain of your fibre’? There’s nothing that’s _that_ upsetting.”

Alfred smiles weakly. “Like, would you freefall from an airplane?”

I shake my head. “Not only would that be improper, it would be very dangerous.”

“So it goes against every grain of your fiber,” he supplies. “That’s what I mean.”

I frown. “Like hurting you?”

His eyes widen with surprise. “What?”

I raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging on my lips. “You heard me.”

He blinks. “I don’t understand.”

The admission is quiet, and he seems almost embarrassed to say it.

I smile warmly at him. “I would never, _could never_ , hurt you. Because seeing you hurt hurts me. You see?”

Alfred looks so innocent like that, startled and crumpled as he is. “Y-you mean that?”

I nod. “There’s a reason I couldn’t kill you, Alfred.”

Alfred almost smiles. “Maybe...just maybe, we _can_ get along.”


	5. Maybe We CAN Get Along (Alfred's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is surprised to find that "maybe...just maybe" him and Arthur can get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than the previous chapters. Cute fluff. Next chapter will be much longer (The Day After; 9/12).

Arthur pulls me into his lap, tucking his arms around me protectively. “No way I’d leave you alone like this, even if you don’t really want me here. You need someone to be there, even if you try to act all tough and grown up. And you _do_ deserve it, Alfred, you deserve everything. You deserve better than you have. _I still care._ ”

I peek at him timidly. “Y-you mean it?”

He nods firmly. “Yes. Just because you declared independence doesn’t mean I stop caring. I fought because I didn’t want to lose you. Not because I didn’t _understand_.”

I choke. “R-really? S-so you don’t hate me?”

Arthur shakes his head quickly. “Why would I hate you? You’re everything I _can’t_ be. Free, happy. I’m supposed to be all proper, the _gentleman_ , to never say a word against anyone else. It’s depressing. You can do whatever the hell you want!”

I smile weakly at him. “You don’t have to. I mean, you can _do_ other stuff. You shouldn’t make yourself sad to please others. You’re not living life to the fullest when you do that.”

Arthur shrugs. “It’s what’s expected of me. There’s not much I can do to change that. Not all of us can be as happy as you—nor, for that matter, as happy as _Italy_.”

I laugh shakily. “You can _always_ change. Don’t forget that. Don’t do something if it goes against every grain of your fiber, but you can grow. You can change.”

Arthur frowns, bewildered. “What do you mean ‘if it goes against every grain of your fibre’? There’s nothing that’s... _that_ upsetting.”

I smile up at him, asking shyly, “Like, would you freefall from an airplane?”

He shakes his head. “Not only would that be improper, it would be _very_ dangerous.”

“So it goes against every grain of your fiber,” he supplies. “That’s what I mean.”

Arthur frowns, thinking. “Like hurting you?”

I blink, startled. “ _What?_ ”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. “You heard me.”

I swallow. “I don’t understand.”

The admission is quiet, and a thrill of embarrassment runs through me as I say it aloud.

Arthur smiles warmly. “I would never, _could never_ , hurt you. Because seeing _you_ hurt hurts _me_. You see?”

I stare at him, startled. “Y-you mean that?”

Arthur nods. “There’s a reason I couldn’t kill you, Alfred.”

A smile tugs on my lips. “Maybe...just maybe, we _can_ get along.”

Arthur’s eyes light up with a spark of light. “Maybe.”

His voice is soft and there’s a faint trace of hope hidden beneath worry. “If you let me try.”


	6. The Morning After; 9/12 (Arthur's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after 9/11. Alfred finds Arthur is still there, and has made him breakfast (how he likes it). :D Some cute fluffiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's POV.
> 
> Lots of shit goes down here. Arthur doesn't say anything about Alfred's improper English until he brings it up. :D

Alfred wakes up slowly, wandering into the kitchen to offer me a surprised smile. “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed, you twat,” I tease lightly. “What kind of friend just _leaves_?”

He flushes scarlet, flattening his hair nervously. “I don’t...have friends.”

I shoot him a glance. “You do. Even if we don’t say the words aloud. You can be the most annoying, ignorant arse sometimes, but underneath all that you have a heart. You’re still bleeding, by the way.”

He glances at his clothes. “Yeah, I know. It’s all warm and sticky and I don’t like it. But it won’t go away until it stops burning. I got torched, almost.”

He shakes his sleeve up to reveal charred skin, congealed blood oozing along it. “It stings like a bitch.”

I shiver, averting my eyes and shutting the burner off. I slide the food onto a plate, made how _he_ likes it...not how I normally make it. “It will for a while.”

He hesitates. “Aren’t you gonna say ‘ _that’s improper English_ ’ or something like that?”

I shake my head, offering the plate. “Not now. Not until you heal. I can try to keep my comments to myself. Although you could use some better word choice.”

Alfred smiles shyly, accepting the plate. “’Kay.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Besides, I doubt a _bitch_ stings. Considering that’s really just a way of saying ‘ _slut_ ’.”

Alfred bursts out laughing, sinking down at the table. “That’s terrible!”

I scoop my scone and tea off the counter, sinking down opposite him. “That _is_ the origin of the word. A bitch is a pregnant female wolf, dog, coyote, fox, etcetera, but it came from the word for ‘ _slut_ ’. So yes, I do doubt a _bitch_ stings. You could certainly use some better words to explain how badly it hurts.”

He chuckles, twirling his fork in his fingers. “Maybe.”

I shoot him a glance. “You did hear what I said, did you not?”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “Which thing in particular do you speak of?”

I roll my eyes. “No need to be so formal. You remember when I said you deserve better?”

He nods, then it hits him. “ _Oh._ When you said you’re proud of me?”

I nod, taking a small sip of tea. “That, yes.”

Alfred flushes scarlet. “I heard, yeah. And you said a two-word sentence.”

I shrug casually. “I didn’t need to say anything else.”

His blush deepens further. “You meant that?”

I look up, our eyes meeting. “Of course I did.”

Alfred reaches across the table until our hands brush. “You don’t act like it.”

I flip my hand, closing my fingers on his hand lightly. “Actions don’t tell everything, nor do words. You always think I’m being down on you, saying you’ll be a diabetic in a few years? No, that’s worry. I raised you, Alfred, I don’t _want_ to see you end up like that. And when I remind you of the Revolutionary War, what I mean is you need to get off that high horse and actually think of _others_ for once. You don’t _always_ have to be the hero. Heroes get hurt, they die. They’re _vulnerable_ because they piss off a lot of people, have a lot of enemies. I don’t...I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to see you die.”

His face softens. “Arthur...”

I shrug. “Maybe you’re not getting the point of what I’m saying most of the time, but everything I say negatively is _because_ _I care_ , not because I want to upset you.”

Alfred drops his eyes. “Oh.”

His voice is soft, just a whisper of air through parted lips. I close my eyes, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as he finally begins to understand.


	7. I Don't Want You To Make The Same Mistakes I Did (Alfred's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur actually cries a little. It's sad. :'( Alfred takes care of him, though, he hugs him to make it better. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sadness. Alfred trying to convince Arthur he's never done anything as bad as the Holocaust.

I reach across the table until my hand is over his. “You...don’t act like it.”

Arthur flips his hand, closing his fingers on my hand lightly. “Actions don’t tell everything, nor do words. You always think I’m being down on you, saying you’ll be a diabetic in a few years? No, that’s worry. I raised you, Alfred, I don’t _want_ to see you end up like that. And when I remind you of the Revolutionary War, what I mean is you need to get off that high horse and actually think of _others_ for once. You don’t _always_ have to be the hero. Heroes get hurt, they die. They’re _vulnerable_ because they piss off a lot of people, have a lot of enemies. I don’t...I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to see you die.”

My mouth opens a little. “Arthur...”

He shrugs weakly. “Maybe you’re not getting the point of what I’m saying most of the time, but everything I say negatively is _because_ _I care_ , not because I want to _upset_ you.”

I drop my eyes. _Now I feel terrible for fighting him. Jesus Christ._ “Oh.”

He closes his eyes, his tension easing.

The silence reigns supreme for several minutes before Arthur opens his eyes again, sighing quietly. “And whether you like it or not, I’m here and I’ll take care of you. As long as it takes. No way in hell I’m leaving when you’re burnt and bleeding like that.”

I look up, his hand calloused and warm in mine. “I saw you look away.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And? Just because I don’t want to see the damage done doesn’t mean I don’t _care_. Bloody hell, I care a lot. I care a hell of a lot. You don’t deserve this.”

He gestures vaguely to the burns. “The wars, the shootings, now this. You don’t deserve any of it. I don’t want you to make the same stupid mistakes I have.”

I blink. “What stupid mistakes?”

Arthur winces. “I’d prefer...not to mention it. We’ve all made mistakes, done things we regret. We’ve all suppressed our own population at times—you had slavery. We had a corrupt monarchy. We have _all_ done things we regret. Even Italy. Maybe even Germany.”

I frown. “But you’ve never done anything wrong. I mean, the price of tea was absolutely _outrageous,_ but you didn’t really do anything as bad as the Holocaust.”

Arthur shakes his head. “There are things I’ve had a hand in. The Irish potato famine. We had a chance to give them food and didn’t. We’ve colonized places around the globe at the cost of _no one knows_ how many natives. There were around ten million native Americans when you got here—now there’s, what? Less than thirty thousand? That blood is on me. Almost ten _million_ or more lives lost...whether or not they were different. Simply because my people wanted the land. That’s even worse than the Holocaust. At least we know for sure we lost eleven million total in the Holocaust. No one will ever know _for sure_ how many natives were lost.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that. _Wow. Just...wow._

Dumbstruck, I try to find something to say that doesn’t sound judgy. Clearly, he’s judging the hell out of himself; he doesn’t need me to add to that.

I shake my head. “The colonies did that themselves. You didn’t tell them to kill the natives. That blood is on us, not you. I mean, sure, it was pretty terrible. But...you didn’t have a hand in it. That’s on me. Because we didn’t stop. We wanted the land, we shoved them off. Even the Mexicans—we shoved them off so we could have the southern part of California and so we could have Texas. You’re not....you’re not evil, and you’re not a murderer. You didn’t intend to kill anyone, it was just a hazard of putting people on land that already had people.”

Arthur glances up at me, and I’m shocked to see he’s actually crying. “Moving the Mexicans was all you. But killing the natives...it was the judgement and ethnic persecution of _my_ people that caused yours to move.”

I bite my lip, squeezing his hand. “Well, yeah, but...hey, it was bound to happen eventually, right? I mean, most of the natives died of diseases and stuff we brought over. We didn’t kill that many by hand. And you didn’t kill any of them, you weren’t there. It’s...it’s not your fault, Arthur. It’s mine.”

Arthur sips at his tea with a shaky hand, his eyes still downcast. “It doesn’t matter that it was the colonists who killed them. They killed most of them on the East coast while still under _our_ rule. I may not have been there, killing them personally, but I’m the reason your people were there in the first place.”

I wait until he sets his tea down to get up and go around the table, pulling him to his feet into a fierce hug. “Stop arguing, damn it. _It’s not your fault._ None of it is. My people _chose_ to flee. They felt they had to, but they made the decision to leave home. And I was born. Without you, I would never have been born. And who would be there to annoy the hell out of you? To tell you you’re working too hard? To tell you how _outrageously_ priced your teas were? Who would be there to save your ass from the other countries? To defend you behind your back? Some things are just...meant to happen.”

He buries his face in my shirt, his arms winding around me. “I feel pathetic,” he mutters into my shirt.

I roll my eyes. “You’re not pathetic, my friend,” I echo his words from earlier. “We all have those days.”

He laughs weakly, his tears soaking through my shirt. “You annoying little shit.”

“That’s my job,” I tease lightly. “I take it I do it well.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred taking care of Arthur. Hugging him. Fluff. Very deep here. Y'know, "much deep, such fluff". I think that's the feels way to say it. :'D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter but goes very deep.

I sip solemnly at my cup of tea with a shaky hand, eyes still downcast. “It doesn’t _matter_ that it was the colonists who killed them. They killed most of them on the East coast while still under _our_ rule. I may not have been there, killing them personally, but I’m the reason your people were there in the first place.”

The moment I set my tea down, Alfred gets to his feet and goes around the table, pulling me to his feet into a fierce hug. “Stop arguing, damn it. _It’s not your fault._ None of it is. My people _chose_ to flee. They felt they had to, but they made the decision to leave home. And I was born. Without you, I would never have been born. And who would be there to annoy the hell out of you? To tell you you’re working too hard? To tell you how _outrageously_ priced your teas were? Who would be there to save your ass from the other countries? To defend you behind your back? Some things are just...meant to happen.”

I bury my face in his shirt, my arms winding around him tightly. “I feel pathetic,” I mutter into his shirt.

Alfred rolls his eyes. “You’re not pathetic, my friend,” he echoes my words from earlier. “We all have those days.”

I laugh weakly, tightening my grip. _Mocking me._ “You annoying little shit.”

“That’s my job,” he teases lightly. “I take it I do it well.”

I pull my glasses off, sliding them in my pocket so they won’t keep digging into my nose. “You’re such a twat.”

He laughs, fitting his arms tightly around me. “I do try. I love you, too, Arthur.”

I roll my eyes. “What gave you that idea?”

Alfred chuckles. “One, you actually took your glasses off for once. Two, you’re letting me take care of you. Which...nope, you’ve never done that before. And you _did_ say you’re proud of me.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “What does taking my glasses off have to do with anything?”

Alfred tightens his grip. “You looks all sophisticated and smart with your glasses on. You just look...I don’t know, more human without them.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Has nothing to do with the fact that they dig into my nose when you hug me like that?”

He laughs. “Only when I hug you?”

I scoff, closing my eyes and tightening my grip. “I never said _that_.”


End file.
